Usually things get easier to write about over time. Not this time. It's getting harder.
My First Cousin (technically he's not, but he'll always be my Very First Cousin) was eager to help me. He's an elderly man in poor health, who needed the mental stimulation such a puzzle provided. He's been very encouraging, even as my moods have swung like a weather-vane in storm.
I'm one of the least emotional people you'll ever meet, although I'm self-aware enough to realize that for me this symptom is a sign of an underlying problem. But here I was obsessively combing through genealogies and bursting into tears at every photograph. I desperately wanted to know who these people were, what their stories told about them, and how their stories related to my stories. I craved the stories grownups swapped while visiting and told to the kids on the porch during long afternoons.
I cried the first time I spoke to First Cousin on the phone. It was the first time I'd heard the voice of a blood relation I hadn't given birth to.
PTSD blankets my emotions with numbness. It's hard to feel any emotion, I think them more than I sense them. Unexpected strong emotions tend to cause an automatic whole-body shutdown response. But this was so unexpected it blew through my automatic defenses like they weren't even there.
It had been a few weeks since I was told that my results would be ready in a month and a half. I checked the site everyday, but the expectation of seeing anything had long since slumbered. I almost forgot to check that Saturday when I remembered it before running off to do some outdoor work.
I logged on to Ancestry.com, expecting to see the now-familiar white page with a tiny "come back later" notice. Instead I saw colors. There were greens, beige, browns, oranges, blues, pinks, blacks, and even a few tiny full color photographs. Some of the colors formed words, but I couldn't read them, too shocked to see that there was something -- quite a lot of something -- there at all.
Been reading a bit more on your site and I thought I would share some more with you. Although I don't think I was necessarily abused by my Aparents it certainly never stopped me from realizing that the whole chosen/ grew in her heart not in her womb thing was bullshit created by a pro adoption agenda. Kinda like an engagement ring made out of a cubic zerconia. Beautiful and yet still fake. You may want and wish it was real but it's not.Also it is the pain of being separated from our mothers that is our true and ultimate abuse.
Adversely an abused adoptee at least is spared the lies and false hopes that a true family bond has formed when I find that to be a childish and wishful notion altogether. I found myself thinking of apes today and what happens when the babies are removed from their mothers. In watching such footage it nearly brought me to tears in empathy and yet it wasn't till today that I actually realized that we generally treat apes and kittens better than humans because that's just animal abuse to do such things lol.
This morning I checked recent posts on the PPL pages and found a very nice blog-piece written by a person claiming to offer free services to those who lost a family member in El Salvador. Note, no private email or PM was sent to myself, Niels, or Admin, asking if advertisement for a service for victims can be posted in a blog.
The post, titled, "FREE INVESTIGATIVE SERVICES IN EL SALVADOR ON (MISSING CHILDREN OR FAMILY MEMBERS) IN EL SALVADOR ONLY" began:
All children have parents; some have abusive ones, others have loving ones, and all adoptees have at least one missing parent set aside to haunt in unremembered memory. If a child is told he's adopted, he will wonder what brought him to a new set of parents. If a child is not told he is adopted, I'm sure the child will have ways of knowing a lie is being told and a secret is being kept. Children watch their parents very carefully; we have to... that's how we learn. Nothing can be done to change who our parents are; adoption just adds more confusion to that absolute fact.
Search and Reunion is a huge business that gets tied to a major milestone in the life of the curious and brave lost family-member. Reunion in my mind implies a sense of closure and completion, yet how can it be so when it comes to Original Family Members?
Growing-up, I was Different. Different was not good. Different got poked-at and teased. My differences made easy targets for my brother to attack, as brothers often do to their little sisters. I'm told sibling rivalry is completely normal and healthy.